You Owe Me
by those-painted-wings
Summary: They have a sort of system. Not a peaceful one, but it generally works. Yet somehow, one of them always ends up in the other's debt, and it turns out that there really are two sides to every story.
1. Chapter 1

_You Owe Me_

by Phoenicem Argentum

AN: This is an incomplete work. I will not promise it will be completed. I will not promise regular updates. I will not beg for reviews. Encouragement is appreciated and may inspire writing sprees, but once again, no promises are made.

Chapter One

Once again, a battle raged around them.

Bumblebee seized his two small charges and quickly pushed – almost shoved – them into the decaying frame of an abandoned office building.

"Wait!" Sam called after him, but he was already gone, gone to defend his comrades-in-arms rather than his pets.

No, she told herself, no, they weren't pets…

Right?

But she pushed away the bothersome idea and turned her attention to her now frantically pacing boyfriend. He was muttering to himself, and she wondered if the same thoughts were passing through his mind. Suddenly, he wheeled around from where he had paused near the gaping doorway.

"Do you think," he began, but what he was about to say was forever lost as the entire front of the building slid away like a tablecloth someone had pulled. Sam disappeared under the rubble, and she screamed.

Glowing red eyes peered after the sound, but were distracted by a piercing cry of anger. The gold blur of Sunstreaker collided with the Decepticon Seeker, knocking him into the buildings on the other side of the street. In the back of her mind, she dimly recognized him as a Conehead… Thrust, maybe? Dirge? The same piece of her mind screamed, "Run, you idiot!" But she stood frozen as the two colossal, elemental beings trampled the infrastructure into dust before her. Choking on the dirt that rose from their conflict, she tried to override the terror that held her in place and back away.

Thrust bellowed something and threw Sunstreaker from where the front liner clung to his back, clawing at his wings. The Autobot collided with the remains of the building that she cowered under, and more ceiling tiles and bits of drywall rained down around her.

But those bits of debris were the least of her worries. Terribly, inevitably, a support beam fell in stately glory, silhouetted by floating particles of dirt and a ray of sunlight trying to pierce the battle-dust induced gloom.

Wide-eyed, she watched it descend, knowing it would strike her and knowing that there was no way; that she simply couldn't move away in time. It collided with the ground, raising billowing sheets of gray dirt so thick that her field of vision faded out as the sun was choked away… or it could have been the pain that made things go black for a moment, for the I-beam that once supported the next story's flooring now lay across her legs, which were surely both broken.

She must have blacked out again, because when the world was once again revealed to her sight, no Cybertronians could be seen, Autobot or Decepticon. In the distance, though, a terrible mechanical shriek echoed off the walls of the concrete jungle.

Then there were the sounds of a commotion, and the ground reverberated with the forces of feet and engines, sending bolts of agony up her legs. A roar of jet engines, a single whining discharge of plasma weapons, then… nothing.

She must have been in shock, because when the truth of the situation sank in, several minutes later, she didn't feel anything at all. Not fear, not anger, not disappointment, just a vague idea of betrayal, and no thoughts of acting on it.

"They left me," she whispered to the slowly clearing air. The dust continued to settle around her without heed.

Her legs shrieked again with pain when she shifted to find a more comfortable position, and she desisted, lying still and trying to force her fuzzed thought processes to operate in a sensible linear fashion.

Sam was, very possibly, dead. She had heard nothing from him since the building fell. The Autobots were certainly gone, as were the Decepticons, for her surroundings were absolutely still. It could be hours until anyone returned to the site of the battle - but to them, her treacherous mind reminded her, it was probably more of a skirmish – and there was no guarantee that any investigator would be of the blue-opticed variety. Her best hope, then, lay in getting herself free, checking on Sam, and depending on his condition, continuing on to try and find human aid.

That plan relied on her legs _not_ being broken, which had a discouragingly small chance of being true. She was very securely pinned, and every movement was agony. But for Sam's sake, and her own, she had to try anyway.

With a groan, she braced her hands against the uneven ground and attempted to force her body backwards. There was pain, then a nasty, nausea-inducing ripping noise, and she froze. The pain did not lessen, increasing, rather, and she pushed her torso up to try and glimpse what was wrong.

She moaned in horror. A small pool of blood slowly emerged from where her legs remained, pinned under the beam. Rather than freeing herself, she had drastically worsened her situation. With the break coming through the skin as a… what was it called, a compound fracture – she forced the bile back down – she couldn't risk making it any worse by further efforts.

A tear drew a trail through the dirt on her face, and she glance desperately towards the rubble under which Sam surely lay.

Now what?

She could only lay back and wait.

*~BREAK~*

The dull, earth shaking roar of low-flying jets woke her, piles of rubble shifting and crumbling around her and her legs aching dully.

For a split second, hope sprang in her chest at the thought of Air Force, of human aid, of medical care, only to die and be replaced by fear as the truth hit her.

"Seekers," she whispered.

The bleeding from her leg had slowed, maybe stopped, she wasn't sure. Could she try to move away again? Perhaps they wouldn't find her. Why were they even here? Surely, Megatron had no concern in capturing a couple of fleshlings.

The tones of the engines changed, then cut out only a second before triple booms raced in palpable waves through the ground beneath her as the Tranformers landed. A full trine, then, and a skilled one if they could manage the midair transformation landing sequence. The Command Trine. Why would the Command Trine be performing post-combat reconnaissance?

She lay still and silent as the three Decepticons traversed the ruins, hoping they would overlook her building. The futile prayer died in her throat as the noise of an approach grew louder, until the rattle of falling bricks told her that the mech stood directly behind her. Frantic, she twisted, her eyes meeting dark grey and blue shinplates. Her gaze travelled up, and up. Grey, blue, red…

"Starscream?"

The mechanoid spoke, and his screechy vocal register was at once familiar and frightening.

"What are you doing here, Mikaela?"

*~END~*


	2. Chapter 2

_You Owe Me_

by Phoenicem Argentum

Chapter Two

_"__Starscream?"_

_The mechanoid spoke, and his screechy vocal register was at once familiar and frightening._

_"__What are you doing here, Mikaela?"_

She swallowed, hard. Would her uneasy rapport with the Seeker hold, or would he take advantage of her helplessness to erase all record of his vulnerability, when she had repaired his thruster that dull October day?

"I… They forgot, that is, well; I'm stuck."

"They forgot you."

It was not a question, but she responded anyway.

"Yes."

"Autobot fraggers, self-serving, hypocritical slaggers," he swore softly, and slowly bent to crouch beside her.

"You owe me a favor," she tried.

He sounded almost amused as he replied, "So I do."

"Will you…" again she hesitated. Starscream remained silent, waiting, as the sounds of his trinemates' search went on in the distance.

She found her voice again. "Will you, please, tell me whether Sam is alive?"

He shifted, ever so slightly, and she knew that, for whatever reason, her request has surprised him.

"You do not ask to be freed?"

"What point is there in being free if Sam isn't? Will you tell me if he's okay?"

"I will tell you." His optics glinted; it could have been reflected light; it could have been grudging respect. "Your mate yet lives."

Her relief was so great that she nearly passed out again. "He's alive! But, will he stay that way?" Anxiously, she stared up at Starscream.

"Your mate is alive and will, barring unforeseen circumstances, remain so for some time."

"Thank you," she breathed.

Starscream tilted his head to one side, curious. "Still, you do not ask to be freed?"

"I consider your debt fulfilled, and I don't wish to owe _you_ anything. Or anyone else, for that matter."

"And why is that?"

"I don't trust you. You would not hesitate to take advantage of such a debt for your own ends. I won't tie myself to someone I don't know if I can trust." She was blunt, exhaustion and resignation letting her speak her mind without care for how Starscream might react.

He was oddly detached as he observed, "You take debts almost as seriously as a Cybertronian."

"Is… that a good thing?"

"It is neither good nor bad, simply unusual in an organic. Seldom are your lives long or eventful enough to require such an attitude."

"Hey Screamer! You got anything?" someone – probably Skywarp – yelled, disrupting their carefully sustained interaction.

"There is nothing of consequence in this sector," Starscream responded. "Prepare to return to the _Nemesis_." He stood and made to leave, taking a single step away. Hurriedly, she called back up at him.

"What do you mean, for an organic? How do Cybertronians treat debts?"

He paused, and without turning answered her. "Ask your Bumblebug friend, fleshling. I have neither the time nor the inclination to discuss the complex customs of a now extinct and digressive nation with an insignificant organic alien."

The description stung, both by reminding her of the Cybertronians' status as a people and by demeaning her own nature, but she didn't let it show. "Goodbye, Starscream."

He had begun to leave again, but her farewell stopped him dead in his tracks. He turned, slowly, then walked slowly back. Bending, he seized the end of the heavy beam that trapped her and lifted it, only by a foot or so, but it was enough. With a gasp of pain and effort, Mikaela jerked her legs out from under its crushing force. Starscream let the beam fall again with a clatter and hum of reverberating metal, then directed one of his trademark smirks at her.

"Now you owe me. Not that an organic would ever be able to do anything of benefit for _me_, but the reversal of positions amuses me."

Still breathing heavily, she stared up at the harsh red optics. Unable to resist a final jab, she replied.

"I thought that the customs were irrelevant? But we'll just have to see if I'm as useless as you think."

It was a long time before she had her body relatively under control and the pain manageable again, and longer still for anyone to come to her aid. It was well past midnight before the powerful beams of searching headlights cut the darkness.

"Here!" the call rasped out of her parched throat, and she tried again. "Here!"

Muffled voices, then footsteps came in her direction, eerily mimicking Starscream's approach earlier that day. The noises were followed by headlights which swept once over her body before refocusing her in their cold, washed-out light. She strained her dark-adapted eyes to see her rescuer.

"Hound?" Her voice was still much to quiet.

"Primus, Mikaela, we're so sorry! Are you okay?"

"Not exactly," she mumbled. "I think you're going to have to carry me."

There was something important, something she had forgotten, nagging her to remember…

"Sam!" the name exploded out of her. "Somewhere over there," she waved wildly, "Sam!"

A large metallic hand gently wrapped itself around her and scooped her up – Pet, her fevered brain insisted – and the quiet hum of systems engulfed her as she was cradled against warm chest plates.

"Mikaela?" the voice was soft and lightly questioning, and she mumbled into Hound's armor plating.

"Sam got… buried, I guess, under the rubble." Her voice got more animated as she fully recalled the horrible moment. "He's still alive, you've got to find him!"

"Okay, Mikaela. We'll find Sam."

The Autobots were overcome with guilt at having left Mikaela and Sam. Their self-flagellation was only outdone by their relief at both having survived, even only with significant injury. As it turned out, Bumblebee had been shredded by Bonecrusher in a particularly vicious and unexpected attack, and in the confusion involved in ensuring his continued, online state, the two humans were simply overlooked.

Once she had been rehydrated and otherwise patched up, Mikaela had the sense not to tell anyone exactly how she had gotten out from under the firmly wedged thirty-foot steel beam, or why she had been so convinced as to Sam's continued "online" state, when the far more logical conclusion after such an accident lay in the death of the involved party. Rather, she had pled shock, pain and otherwise confusion, and the Autobots had let it go, all too ready to put what they termed "that unfortunate incident" behind them.

But Mikaela's legs remained broken, however much Bee tried to help by carrying her everywhere.

And she still remembered the disappointed expression that crossed Starscream's face when he said, "They forgot you."


	3. Chapter 3

_You Owe Me_

AN: Sections of text in this chapter are taken from Sun Tzu's _The Art of War_, which naturally isn't mine.

*~BEGIN~*

The news swept through the Ark like a gale wind, though no human was aware of its passage. The com lines were jammed with flying speculations, but the first Mikaela heard of it was in the form of a muttered comment in passing from Cliffjumper to Bumblebee.

"The Screamer's going mad down there."

Any reply must have taken the form of an internal comm, because Mikaela had to inquire from her perch on Bumblebee's shoulder, "Wait! Starscream is here?"

Bumblebee seemed confused for a moment. "Yeah, of course! Everyone's been… Oh, you wouldn't have heard, would you? Well, Starscream's been here for over two joors now."

She knew that he didn't _mean_ to sound condescending, but…

"Joors, as in, like, 4 hours, right? And he's in the brig?"

"Well, where else would he be? You're not worried, are you? You're in no danger, I'll keep you safe."

"No, I'm not worried, just… Nevermind. It's not important."

"If you're sure."

*~BREAK~*

Starscream's capture shouldn't have surprised her as much as it did. 'Cons got captured fairly regularly, and it would be stupid to think Starscream invulnerable.

Still, there was something wrong with the idea of the flighty Seeker trapped in one of those small – at least to a mech of Starscream's size – brig cells. Surely he was uncomfortable and, maybe lonely?

And anyway, she owed him.

With her decision made, she made an about-turn and headed towards the human rec room, where she had left her bag. There was something in there that the honorable warrior in Starscream might appreciate.

As she made her way through the great Autobot base of operations, she noticed that there was a far greater degree of commotion than usual, with people and mechs rushing back and forth. Clearly Starscream's presence had the whole place in an uproar.

Eventually, with a lot of effort, her trusty set of crutches brought her to the rec room. Her backpack lay on the sofa, and she balanced unsteadily against the heavy piece of furniture in order to shrug the bag onto her shoulder. Sighing, she turned to begin the long trek down to the brig.

*~BREAK~*

Starscream was bored out of his processor. His logic circuits were frying with the effort of trying to justify how, by the Unmaker, being a prisoner held by hostile mechs in an underground base could be so _dull_. All the reports he had read, written by Decepticons who had been treated to Autobot "hospitality" had scorned the weakness in their treatment of prisoners, but never had they mentioned how the joors of nothing but sickly orange walls could create such apathy.

Not that he was complaining. The silence and isolation was, in some respects, relaxing in a way that the _Nemesis_ could never achieve. Nobot had bothered him since he had been stupid enough to get caught, and that was fine by him.

It didn't stop him missing his trinemates, though. While he was glad they were still free, he worried over how old _Meggsie_ would treat them in his absence. Without himself present to be the Decepticon commander's glitch, someone else would be subjected to his Lord's excesses. Someone like 'Warp or TC.

So he worried and paced, muttering curses in various languages under his breath. Half those languages were dead, and another quarter would only be recognized by the most dedicated researcher. Starscream knew he was being watched, and he didn't care; let that paranoid security 'Bot glitch himself at the idea of a prisoner's plotting. Starscream was – perish the thought! – Starscream was lonely.

*~BREAK~*

Even with her crutches and weighty bag, slipping past the guard – whose vents rattled gently in recharge – had been laughably easy. She snorted in scorn, then hobbled her way down the double row of empty cells toward the only one with activated energy bars.

"Who's there?" his voice echoed in the empty space, rebounding onto her ears like electric feedback.

"Remember what you said: 'Not that an organic would ever be able to do anything of benefit for _me,_'?"

"Mikaela? What of it?" He sounded sour and grouchy.

She limped her way over to the wall which supported the energy bars. The bulkhead extended several feet out into the corridor, and she settled against it, perpendicular to the entrance of the cell. Her legs splayed out awkwardly in front of her, encased as they were in fiberglass casts.

"I'm here to fulfill that debt. I'm going to keep you company."

The mechanical snort he gave in response reminded her of a backfiring car.

"And what makes you worthy of dictating the conditions of fulfillment? Why would I consider 'company' adequate compensation?"

She ignored his snark, for his optics spoke of loneliness and relief at her presence. Firmly, she positioned the backpack beside herself, displaying clearly that she didn't intend to leave.

"The fact that the whole base is talking about how you're down here muttering to yourself. The way that you haven't demanded that I leave yet. Because getting me out from under the beam took almost no effort on your part, but keeping you entertained is a real sacrifice to me."

She only got a grunt in return.

"Besides," she continued, "I didn't expect to be able to keep up with your," the sarcasm sat heavily on her tongue, "_conversation_. So I brought this." Triumphantly, she pulled the slim book from her bag and brandished it at him.

Starscream looked at the object with disdain. It was a book; a primitive human method of storing and propagating data. Far inferior to datapads, easily damaged, _organic_ material.

"Of what use can that wad of dead cellulose be to me?"

Mikaela growled at him. "It's not just _cellulose_. It's a _book_. It's what's written in it that matters. _This_ is Sun Tzu's _The Art of War_. If there were to ever be a human book you'd appreciate, this'd be it."

"And why is that."

"Because," she began, flipping open the front cover and paging through a few layers, "Sun Tzu lived centuries ago, and yet his work is still acclaimed as military and psychological genius."

"More likely," Starscream simpered, "the document simply stands as testament to human stupidity. Who uses the same tactics century after century?"

"I'll soon have you changing your tune. After all, I do have a _captive _audience."

"Oh, very funny, fleshling."

"_I _think so."

"You would."

Neither would admit it, but their banter felt almost natural to both parties. Starscream could feel the tension in his hydraulics lessening, and for the first time in over a trimara he was able to bring himself to sit down, leaning against the bulkhead opposite the fleshy so that he could glare at her if necessary.

_Sun Tzu said: "Warfare is the greatest affair of state, the basis of life and death, the Way to survival or extinction. It must be thoroughly pondered and analyzed._

_...Which ruler has the Way? Which general has the greater ability? Who has gained the advantages of Heaven and Earth? Whose laws and orders are more thoroughly implemented? Whose forces are stronger? Whose officers and troops are better trained? Whose rewards and punishments are clearer? From these I will know victory and defeat._

_...Warfare is the Way of deception._

_...Thus there are five factors from which victory can be known: one who knows when he can fight, and when he cannot fight, will be victorious. One who recognizes how to employ large and small numbers will be victorious. One whose upper and lower ranks have the same desires will be victorious. One who, fully prepared, awaits the unprepared, will be victorious. One whose general is capable and not interfered with by the ruler will be victorious._

Mikaela glanced up at Starscream. Seeing his expression, she paused in her reading and focused her attention on him. The Seeker seemed pensive, weary, as if the weight of millenia of war was crushing him. Her silence made him look over at her, and his vents gave a rattling exhalation, like a sigh.

"How is it, Mikaela," his voice was soft, "that a species so much younger can be so much wiser than our greatest leader?"


End file.
